


Tender in the Looking Glass

by Amber_Aglio



Series: Amber's Fair Game Week 2020 [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, day 5: Hurt/Comfort, fairgameweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber_Aglio/pseuds/Amber_Aglio
Summary: Weeks after the incident on the prisoner transport, Qrow and the kids are still on the run from the law. Clover still has regrets.But maybe this time, luck will be on their side.TW for a non-graphic description ofthatepisode 12 scene. You can guess how it is framed by looking at the tags, but please be cautious when reading.Written for Fair Game Week day 5: Hurt/Comfort
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Amber's Fair Game Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665745
Comments: 11
Kudos: 66





	Tender in the Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure I can say this is my favorite of all the stories I've written for FGW, but it's certainly the most personal and the most.. weird? Anyway, I hope it is still enjoyable. This greatly drew inspiration from my own nightmares, and while a lot of the feelings are hard to imagine outside of a dream, not to mention put into words, I hope I did a decent enough job at conveying the emotions. 
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta [thedarkpoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkpoet/pseuds/thedarkpoet) who made sure this story made sense.

Clover was flying over the tundra. Or rather, the transport he was in was flying. Clover wasn’t sure how he got there - his memory felt fuzzy, but it didn’t feel like something of importance.

Something coiled and twisted around him, an intangible feeling of wrongness, as if the matter all around him was distorted like a wet, crumpled blanket. Clover looked around - right: he was on the prisoner transport. It didn’t quite look like one, but Clover somehow knew with absolute certainty that he was transporting the prisoner, Tyrian Callows, to Atlas. Right, he must have nodded off for a moment, but now he remembered everything.

He relaxed a bit and stole a glance at Qrow - that never failed to raise his spirits. The huntsman looked somber, but Clover supposed it was natural, given their history with Tyrian. Clover had barely thought that he should reach out to Qrow and reassure him when an alert sounded on his scroll.

He started rising even before he fully took in the message. It was as if his body knew what to do without any input from his head, and Clover accepted that. It made sense - or not? The tight ropes of coiled reality sneaked around his limbs, holding or tugging, he wasn’t sure.

He needed to bring Qrow in.

That was the order, right? That was what was supposed to happen. Qrow would surely understand.

He was watching the events transpiring on the transport as if from underwater. Kingfisher blocked a shot from Robyn, a swing from Qrow. Did he want to fight Qrow? Did Qrow want to fight? The words seemed to have lost meaning.

And then the transport was suddenly falling. Someone was laughing - oh, it was Tyrian - and the fabric of the entire reality shook, as if ripples were going through it, shaking Clover out of his stupor.

Right, the transport was falling. He probably needed to get out of it. Unthinkingly, he hit the door to get it to open and jumped. For a while there was nothing, just whiteness and the feeling of freefall and Clover was beginning to think something went wrong, but the next moment he was standing on the ground. In front of him was Qrow.

Oh right, Clover remembered. He was supposed to bring Qrow in.

He tried to coax him to go peacefully. They needed to get Robyn to the hospital - and how did Clover know she was injured? There was no time to think about it.

Something in the air sang, like a tightly wound clock mechanism urging Clover to go, faster and faster, to act, to do what he was supposed to. He obeyed, not knowing better for some reason. Should he?

 _“...I enjoyed working with you, you know. Even with that endless cynicism of yours,”_ Clover heard his own voice say.

Was Qrow cynical? Clover hadn’t noticed. He was hurt, and cautious, and guarded. Was that cynicism?

“...You don’t know my friends. That’s how it always goes.” Why though? Couldn’t there be someone who wouldn’t betray and hurt Qrow?

Oh. They were fighting. That’s right, he was hurting Qrow, too. Were they even really friends?

Clover couldn’t remember, for some reason. The word - _friends_ \- felt wrong, but it was the only one on his tongue. Should he stop?

But his body was moving on its own accord, exchanging more blows with Qrow.

Then, suddenly, there was Tyrian. Wasn’t he on the crashed transport? Restrained? Clover’s mind supplied the vague idea that one could free themselves of restraints by dislocating their thumbs. Right. As soon as Clover thought that, he noticed a purpling bruise on one of Tyrian’s hands. That must be what had happened.

And then suddenly, he was fighting the both of them. He hadn’t expected that. Weren’t he and Qrow supposed to take Tyrian down together?

No, that was before, he reminded himself. He got the order to bring Qrow in, he should probably do that. Why were there two people to fight? It was confusing. Who was he supposed to prioritize?

He looked between them again. Tyrian’s figure seemed fuzzy, as if void of details. Qrow was striking, an image with his cape and with Harbinger twisting through the air in fury.

This was obviously about Qrow. He should focus on Qrow. Right? That’s what he was supposed to do, wasn’t it? His limbs felt heavy, but he somehow still moved, evading and blocking blows. Where did Tyrian find his weapons? Weren’t they supposed to be locked away?

The wet, clingy feeling came back to pull at him, like damp blankets or rain-soaked clothes wrapped around his limbs, his head. Weird. It was snowing.

Purple flashed before him as Tyrian tried to use his semblance. Qrow suddenly didn’t have his scythe anymore - oh, Qrow must have tossed it away. There it was, in the snow to the side - still as beautiful as ever.

And then, just as he finally managed to restrain Tyrian, Something knocked him off balance. Clover didn’t really feel any pain, but the world shifted and he saw his aura dissolve into dust.

Oh. Qrow punched him. He should have expected that. Why hadn’t he?

He shouldn’t have fought Qrow at all, he never really stood a chance. How could he forget?

The world was spinning, the echoes of distant words never quite reaching his ears and yet still somehow making sense.

The right thing? He _was_ doing the right thing, wasn’t he? He did what he was supposed to, what this world needed him to do.

What James needed him to do? That was also the right thing, right?

But what about Qrow? What was the thing Qrow wanted him to do?

The surrounding world coiled firmer, the puppeteer’s strings tightening their holds on him. They looped around his neck, choking him. Still, somehow, his lungs were full of air.

Something was about to happen.

Pain ripped through his chest, sudden and inexplicable. Someone had stabbed him.

And Clover knew it was Tyrian, and that the blade in his chest was Harbinger, despite not being able to see them. None of it made sense. Wasn’t Harbinger the other way? How had Qrow failed to see Tyrian approach?

But of course it was Tyrian, Clover could hear his laugh through the fog and buzz in his head. And a moment later there was the ground in front of his eyes - did he fall? The horizon tilted, and Qrow’s face was above him, and suddenly everything felt almost peaceful. The sun was rising. Clover wanted to smile, raise his hand and touch Qrow’s cheek, but his limbs felt too heavy, tied down by the weird discordance in the surrounding world. 

“Good luck,” he heard his voice say, and then another wave of nauseating ripples tore through the tundra. A panic - distant, as if not his - could it be Qrow’s? No, that made no sense, or did it? - squeezed Clover’s lungs.

He felt rather than heard Qrow’s scream. His head lolled to the side, revealing the pale but still visible moon. Why was it whole?.. 

Clover felt darkness creep up on him. The moon shattered. 

And reality shattered with it.

* * *

Clover woke up covered in sweat, feeling the foggy tatters of the dream still clinging to the edges of his vision. He tried to calm his breathing, distinct the reality from nightmare. It was just a dream, and not even one of the worst. The night before it had been Qrow dying. This was nothing, he tried to tell himself.

His chest itched from the wound he’d suffered a while back, when he’d gotten reckless on a mission. He got chewed out by Winter and Vine for his lack of attention, while Elm looked on, somehow conveying both pity and understanding. Marrow said something about Clover not being himself. He’d seemed weirdly mature at that moment, but Clover had been too tired and in pain to ruminate more on it.

In the silence of his bedroom, Clover tried to fall asleep again. But reality still felt distorted, and the pain kept reminding him of the pointless, senseless dream. He got up and threw on some casual, dark clothes, so different from his familiar uniform. There was no point in trying to sleep like that, he might as well take a walk.

He inevitably found himself back in Mantle, just like all other nights when he had been woken up by disturbing memories or nonsensical, terrifying nightmares. Here, away from the bland grandeur of Atlas, the slippery eels of his regrets retreated, hidden in the darkness of alleyways, chased away by the hum of the streets. To see Mantle still in one piece, still buzzing with life - it was enough to give him respite for a few days.

As Clover passed by an unassuming building, a familiar figure ducked into the entrance. The red cape really gave her away, Clover thought detachedly and stopped, waiting for what would happen next. Minutes passed, and Ruby didn’t come out. No Grimm, no fighting. Was this their hideout?

Ever since his first time running from sleep, he’d been bumping into kids here and there. The familiar mop of Penny’s bright hair disappearing into the sky, a dissolving glyph, a cat-eared shadow flying over his head across the roofs. Maybe it was his luck. Maybe it was his punishment, because none of those times had he seen Qrow.

It probably _was_ his luck, because otherwise they remained well-hidden. While Clover stumbled upon them by pure chance, the entire Atlesian military was fruitlessly searching for them. The kids. Penny, the winter maiden.

Qrow.

It all boiled down to Qrow these days, didn’t it?

Clover watched the small house from the shadows, unable to leave as minutes stretched on. There wasn’t anything to see - everyone inside was probably asleep by now. But it brought him comfort to know they were here, alive - despite everything. He wished he could actually speak to them, though.

He clutched at his chest, the phantom pain of his dream wound interlacing with the real injury.

A voice sounded from behind him, “You here to arrest us?.. _Lucky Charm_?”

The nickname sounded after a pause. Hesitant. Unsure.

Clover hated it.

He turned around.

“You shouldn’t have come alone, if you wanted to do that,” Qrow said coldly. “Didn’t work out even when it was your whole team, did it?”

Clover sighed, “I haven’t come here to arrest you. Or anyone.”

“Then why _are_ you here?” Qrow demanded. He looked tired, the dark circles obvious even in the dim light of the few undamaged streetlamps. His clothes, brand new just a few weeks ago, were torn and dirty.

Clover was unsure how to answer. His own nightmares seemed trivial compared to how Qrow must have felt and suffered through the whole ordeal. Garnet eyes focused on him as Qrow came closer, and something must have clicked, because the older man’s expression subtly changed. There was something softer, almost worried on Qrow’s face and he didn’t have quite the same hostile, intimidating quality to him as he looked Clover up and down.

“What happened?” he asked, a hand shooting towards the visible bandages on Clover’s chest before he stopped himself.

Clover looked down. “It’s fine. It’s nothing. Look, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

They stood in silence for a while, Qrow’s cape fluttering in the chilly wind the only sound. 

Then, in a flash, Qrow grabbed Clover’s arm and dragged him towards the door of the house. Stunned, Clover didn’t resist and let himself be manhandled into the basement. It looked like that was where Qrow slept, and only when seeing Harbinger leaning against the wall did Clover realize that during their whole conversation Qrow had been unarmed.

Before Clover could fully process any of that, he was sitting on the battered mattress, Qrow standing in front of him with his arms crossed.

“Talk,” Qrow said sternly.

Clover looked at him in shock, still unsure of what was happening or why.

“Talk,” Qrow repeated, more forcefully. “Look, I know the way we parted wasn’t…” 

He stopped for a while, looking for the words and then just waved his hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. But you’ve been lurking around for a while now, and I want to know why, if it wasn’t so you could take us in.”

Clover felt guilty immediately. Qrow must have been so worried for the kids… How many times, when Clover accidentally caught a glimpse of any of them, had Qrow been hidden nearby, watching and protecting? Waiting for Clover to once more choose duty over feelings and call someone on them?

Was this conversation only happening because Clover had finally come too close for Qrow to feel safe?

But Clover didn’t want to tell anyone about the hideout. He hadn’t told anyone about where he’d seen them before, either. Then again, there wasn’t much thinking involved in his nightly wanderings - his feet just inevitably led him around the city where he would sometimes catch a glimpse of familiar faces and weapons.

He tried not to linger, feeling remorse and sadness pool in his heart each time he remembered the footage of team RWBY defeating the Ace-Ops, Qrow’s words as they argued on the flight to Atlas.

The image of a lonely crow flying away across the tundra, looking somehow betrayed.

His problems felt trivial compared to what Qrow himself had faced, but in the end, Clover felt it was best to be honest. He had no strength left for excuses and half-truths. 

“I’ve been having nightmares,” he said. “And going on walks… helps. A little.”

“Nightmares?” Qrow echoed, choosing to ignore how Clover’s “walks” always involved staring at the supposed fugitives, ignorant of how he himself was being watched. Probably for the best - Clover had no idea how to explain that.

“About that night in the tundra.” Clover fidgeted with the rabbit foot at his waist. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on something… different, trying not to think of all the haunting, bizarre dreams. 

Trying not to think of Qrow dying.

Trying not to think of Harbinger’s blade in his chest.

Qrow sat down beside him.

“Which part?The part where you ditched us on the crashing transport?” he asked a little harshly, then paused and added, quieter, “The part where I ditched you?”

Clover shook his head, “Partly, but mostly just… All the ways it could have gone even more wrong, I don’t know, it’s stupid. The mistakes I’ve made, multiplied tenfold. Why do I keep seeing these things? They make no sense, none of them make sense and _I know it_!..”

He took a shuddering breath, feeling the growing panic. Qrow looked at him, but Clover didn’t dare look up to see what sort of expression he was wearing. 

Then suddenly, there was a strong arm pulling him in and Clover felt himself falling, right onto Qrow’s chest into an awkward hug. 

“Hey,” Qrow said. “It was a fucked-up situation. I don’t know what sort of scenarios you’re dreaming about, but it doesn’t matter. It didn’t happen.”

“I know!” Clover said in frustration. “I know. But it’s still…” 

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning further onto Qrow’s chest, wrapping his arms around the lithe torso.

“I missed you,” he whispered. It felt like a continuation of one of the dreams, a place where he could safely say such things and not be judged. Where he could admit, to himself and to Qrow, what exactly shattered back in the tundra.

Qrow stiffened for a moment, but then there was a hand patting Clover’s hair and a voice in his ear, “I missed you, too. I kept wondering why you kept coming to see us.”

“Sorry about that,” Clover mumbled. “Like I said, I didn’t tell anyone. I…”

He stumbled, unsure how to express what he felt.

“I’m not sure anymore. You’re still on the run, but... “ Qrow patiently waited for Clover’s mind to settle, still petting his hair soothingly. Against his will, against his better judgement, Clover leaned further into Qrow’s embrace.

It felt safe. It felt right. Comfortable enough to say what he needed to say into the planes of Qrow’s chest, what he wasn’t brave enough to say into the emptiness of his cold room in Atlas.

“I’m not so sure anymore. If what we were ordered to do that night was right. If what we’re doing now is entirely right.”

Qrow’s hand stopped its petting for a moment, but soon resumed its motion. 

Clover took a shuddering breath and continued, “I’m not sure if I made the right choice then. I trusted James then, and I want to trust him now, but I’m not sure if I can. Now that I know the full story, I just… can’t be sure. That night, it mostly worked out, but I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake. And I keep thinking that it could have been an even bigger one.”

Qrow nodded, and it dawned on Clover that he was probably the one person who _could_ understand feeling that way, blaming himself for everything that had and could have gone wrong.

Clover squeezed Qrow tighter, “I don’t want to think about it now.”

Qrow sighed, “You have a choice to make, that’s not going anywhere.”

“Maybe,” Clover agreed, suddenly feeling sleepy. “But I think deep down, I already know what my choice will be. Even if it’s scary to admit it.”

“You don’t look scared,” Qrow noted.

“Not when I’m here.” Clover replied and with the side of his head pressed against Qrow’s chest, he felt the other man’s breath hitch..

“You can think about it tomorrow once you have a clear head. You need sleep. You need to go and rest,” Qrow said firmly.

Qrow was right, Clover knew it, but he also didn’t want to move.

“I can’t sleep well in Atlas”, he admitted tiredly. Qrow chuckled disbelievingly, but still somehow fond.

“Whatever should I do with you, Lucky Charm.”

“Keep me?” Clover whispered, feeling suddenly bold, fatigued enough that he didn’t control what he wanted to say. Exhaustion was tugging him into oblivion, but he felt Qrow’s chest shudder in reply. He hoped it was from laughter.

Qrow sighed, long and deep, and fell back onto the bed, pulling Clover with him. “Just this once, Lucky Charm. Just this once.”

Clover felt a kiss being pressed to his hairline and smiled to himself. Maybe this was also a dream, but it was a nice one. He wouldn’t mind not waking up a bit longer.

***

The morning came with the sound of footsteps and hushed voices. Clover opened his eyes and for a moment just listened, disoriented.

He wasn’t in his quarters. As the memories of last night slowly came back to him, he heard the door of the room creak open. A quiet squeal broke the calm of the room, and then the door shut with an audible thud.

There were no windows in the basement room of the hideout. The kids must have wondered where Qrow was. Clover had half a mind to check the time on his scroll, but the voices outside made him stop on his tracks.

“Is he okay? He hadn’t, you know...” that sounded like Nora.

“No. No, it’s fine.” That must be Yang. But where….

“Come on! Let’s go make breakfast! Uncle Clover’s here!” The unmistakable whoosh of petals left Clover stunned and fully awake.

He looked over at Qrow and found crimson eyes staring at him with a worried, but somehow challenging expression. Suddenly it became very obvious that they both still had their arms wrapped around each other and neither made any move to change that.

Clover smiled.

Maybe, deep down, there wasn’t a choice to make at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Please visit my [tumblr](https://amber-aglio.tumblr.com/) for more insight on the stories, WIPs and general Fair Game craziness.


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